I’ve lived a simple life over the last few years, but I’ve still managed to acquire my fair share of stuff. My furniture will be the hardest to move, which makes me lean toward selling everything but my bed. The estate has plenty of furniture in it already.
I miss the guys, and I want to talk to Jacques, though I’m not really sure what to say. Everything in the dreams felt so real—especially the sex. I saw every inch of him, and it wasn’t some fabrication. I really saw him, scars and all.
I saw him laugh. I saw him smile. I felt how much he’s capable of loving someone, and how he’d do anything for the person who holds his heart. Only, none of it was real.
The love, the perfect life, the baby…it was all mind games.
There’s a commotion at the front of the station, and I get up to see what’s going on. Two officers are trying to subdue Oliver McMillan, one of our “frequent flyers.” He bounces from homeless shelter to homeless shelter, then sometimes lives with his daughter until he gets too paranoid to stay there anymore. I know he’s been committed more than once, but due to lack of insurance and the fact he’s not a danger to anyone, he’s always let out to roam the streets again.
He’s a crazy older man who thinks the government is watching him and has more conspiracy theories than anyone. It’s rather sad, really.
“I need to talk to the person in charge,” he repeats, ignoring the officers. “I need to tell the boss about the vampires!”
“There are no vampires. Please, Mr. McMillan,” a young female cop says. She has compassion in her eyes, and I hope it stays. It’s easy for the compassion to turn into frustration and annoyance. “There is no such thing as vampires. The boss is busy.”
“Hey,” I say, and hurry to the front desk. “What’s going on?”
The female officer—Ella Cooper—turns to me, shaking her head. “He’s been in here all week wanting to talk about vampires. We’ve very nicely asked him to go home each time.” She gives her attention back to Mr. McMillan, trying to appeal to what little logic he has left.
“Vampires?” I echo, and Mr. McMillan stops struggling.
“Yes,” he says, sounding exasperated. “They’re killing everyone. We’re all in danger, but no one will listen.”
“I’ll listen,” I say, and Ella’s shoulders relax with relief. “Let’s go talk about this. Are you hungry?” I ask him. He eyes me suspiciously for a moment, and then nods. I motion for him to follow me, and we go outside and down the street to a cafe.
“You gonna tell me I’m crazy?” he asks when we slide into a booth.
“No.” I grab the menus from the side of the table and hand one to him. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”
He licks his lips at the thought of food but doesn’t look at the menu. Not yet. He’s still trying to figure me out.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I believe you,” I say softly, knowing the next few moments are critical. Mr. McMillan suffers from paranoia, and, while just minutes ago he was wanting to warn the public about vampires, he’ll shut down if he doesn’t trust me.
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I turn my head up, eyes meeting his, and look at him as just a person, not a cop. “I’ve seen things, things that can’t be explained.”
He continues to study me for another moment, then opens his menu. “You can stop the vampires?”
“I can try.” The waitress comes over to take our drink orders. I wait until she’s out of earshot to continue. “But I need your help. Can you tell me why you think there are vampires—”
“I don’t think! I know!” He brings his fist down on the table, getting attention from a couple at the table next to us.
“Sorry,” I say, and offer a smile. “I know you know. I mean, can you tell mehowyou found out about the vampires.”
“Yeah, okay…I can do that.” He shifts his weight, looking around nervously. “The sun is out. We’re safe as long as we stay by the window.”
I nod, reminding myself to have extra patience with this man. “The vampires are sleeping.”
He looks at the menu for a minute, closes it, and leans back, waiting for his coffee. Once it comes and we put in our order for food, he starts talking.
“I’ve been staying at Christian Haven. You know of it?”
“I do.” It’s a homeless shelter offered by a church.
“About a week or so ago, a new guy showed up. Said he’d been on the streets, but I didn’t buy it. He looked too…too put-together. Wasn’t ever hungry. And he smelled funny.”
